My Backdoor

Sat, 03 Sep 2005 21:35:53 GMT

So. I'm not going to use this journal anymore. I'm tossing it out of the house like a redheaded stepchild.

I've made a new one instead: it's here

Friend me if you want to.

Sat, 23 Jul 2005 03:33:19 GMT

Hchokay. So.

My one day off of the session is on Tuesday, specifically from 11AM - 3PM on Wednesday. That means one night of freedom.

Anyone in the area who wants to visit me? Or, for that matter, anyone want to travel to Saratoga Springs, NY to visit me? I know it's quite the last minute request to make, but I figure you'll say no if you don't want to, no matter how much I try to guilt you.

I'm just really friendsick up here. And I'm not above bribes. Remember that.

and by PM, I mean AM

Fri, 15 Jul 2005 13:01:57 GMT

Just went to my first passionfruit. It was so sad. It brought my back to my last day, when I literally felt like my life was ending, like I had finally found a place where I wasn't made fun of and I could feel like myself and free only to have the world was tear it away from me because of my age. I have since come into myself in a number of ways and found other environments, like Hampshire, to feel free in... but just the memory of that last day brought me close to tears. I wanted to reassure these students that it'll be alright, but I don't think they'd believe me.

Remember Dewfruit? Oh man, those were good times.

Forgive me for my constant nostalgia... I swear, I'm not this bad in person. I mostly just reminisce in this journal, where some people know what I'm talking about.

Mon, 27 Jun 2005 02:46:30 GMT

Dude.

I'm an RA. AT CTY.

It's weird. Very cool, busy, demanding weird.

I have the best hall ever, though. I only have nine girls, they are writing people (pop culture, to be exact), and they are awesome. The only issue we've had so far is them being so excited to talk to each other that it's hard to get through the announcements.

Tue, 07 Jun 2005 02:36:26 GMT

I think I need to start work earlier than it will actually start.

Being at home seems to consist of short periods of really happy moments interspersed with much longer periods of emo-time. I'm either annoyed at my parents/sister for saying something offensive or feeling extremely guilty because I told my parents/sister how angry I was and in the process said something that I regret, thereby ruining their days, when they work so hard and I don't.

Also, I was planning on going to Boston this week, but I'm beginning to think I won't go, because I feel guilty for not spending enough time with the family before I go to CTY. I'm thinking maybe I'll stay home instead and make it up to them by being an awesome sister and following through on at least some of the plans we made. I'm also thinking that if I stay home, I'll go insane.

I don't know.

Sat, 28 May 2005 00:58:21 GMT

I am sitting here with Claire and showing her the joys of online journals. (She is giggling.)

ladidadi da di edsdfgbyhhffg1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

poo

(Claire typed the second two lines, actually.)

(Well, actually, the third line was all me.)

]levk3jhlrtqik;uh ladida!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Claire again. What a literary genius.)

Mon, 25 Apr 2005 18:59:57 GMT

So. An update on... myself. Hooray for livejournal and narcissistic forms of procrastination!

Everything seems to be due this week and the majority of it is due on my birthday. Kinda sucks. But on the bright side, this weekend is going to be kickass! To actually get things done must be a great feeling. I haven't had that since before Subroutine. Since before this semester, really.

I kind of miss Subroutine. Mostly because of the people... such a fun group of people. And we didn't even get to have a cast party.

So I officially got the job: I'm going to be an RA at Saratoga CTY this summer! It's going to be weird, to have all those amazing memories of that place, yet be on the other side of it all. I hope I won't start acting like an old lady, like
"Back in my day, we didn't actually need to be chaperoned in town."
or
"When I was a student here, we used to sit on this bench, and make fun of people, and rate how phallic my friend was on a scale of one to ten... It was so cool!"
Campers: *back away slowly*

I'm really going to miss this year when it ends. I feel like I've come so far since last year, let loose a lot more, felt free to try more things. I'll miss Mod 7, too, down to the very last ant. (not really)

Wed, 30 Mar 2005 07:52:40 GMT

ICONS FOR YOU

from left: GANDALF SIGN (not accepting any of your crappity), THIS GUY (hee!), SAD KITTY (for when you're feeling blue)

Sun, 27 Feb 2005 23:45:25 GMT

So this weekend, I got off campus. I went to New York to visit friends for two days, then I headed home for about a day. It wasn't exactly the thrilling, insightful, mind-opening experience I was hoping for, but it was definitely a break for my brain.

I think a nice thing that I realized from visiting a bunch of people (most of whom were family) and leaving other friends back at school is that I'm not always a nuisance. Some people need me. But that's a really scary thought too, because what if I can't do enough to help the people that need me? And they're all in different places, so how can I be there for all of them at once? And what about (as corny as this sounds) being there for myself?

Edited: I forgot to mention how awesome the people that I saw this weekend are. Also, that I can't until Spring Break. If I end up doing anything for Spring Break, that is.

Thu, 24 Feb 2005 02:57:08 GMT

Hey, Hampshire People!

Any of you driving to/through NYC tomorrow, by any chance? I will pay for your gas! Also, I'll shower you with lovin' of the platonic sort.

Thu, 10 Feb 2005 23:17:08 GMT

So I'm not really one for memes, but I really really like this one, so please bear with me:

Please post a memory that involves me... whatever comes into your head. It can be good or bad. It will just be fun for me to look at the comments and get all nostalgic.

Hooray for livejournal dependancy.

So yesterday was really kickass. Good things kept happening. I hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, but I couldn't bring myself to crash yesterday. I just didn't want to disrupt the flow of YAY.

The highlights: I am officially a Div II, my advisor okayed my independant study and said she liked my writing, I got a care package from home, and I had the chance to pet Zipper for like a half hour. And it was a beautiful day.

How are all of you?

Sat, 08 Jan 2005 21:01:19 GMT

Jan term is so snowy! I don't know how to deal with all the white!

My New Year's resolution has been to take more risks, but so far I haven't taken any. Maybe I should amend it to "talk to more strangers." It might be more doable.

Mod 7: Craziness or Stir-Craziness? We all need to go places. Dahlia and I had made plans to go see Finding Neverland tonight, but the bus-transferring thing is kinda hard with all the snow. And Katherine and I want to go on a day trip tomorrow, but once again, the snow makes busing more difficult. Especially when we don't know where we're going.

I just watched 5 episodes of Boy Meets World.

The pre-practicum is cool, though it got off to a slow start. I keep hearing the same lines from little kid songs in my head. like:

"I know that we can! Why can't we if we wanna yes we can can"

and

"Good 'ol Clifford, YEAH! The biiiig reeeed dooooog!"

I guess that's just a natural side-effect of shadowing a music teacher.

Wed, 15 Dec 2004 08:04:36 GMT

I think I might have a fever. Which sucks, because I still have a project and half a paper to finish by Thursday. AND I have to pack and clean, but I'm so tired and I can't sleep because I'm so hot.

Hampshire's awesome, but I really fucking HATE the last two weeks of semesters. Or maybe every college is like this.

THE FACT THAT I'M UPDATING HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH A CERTAIN FINAL PROJECT DUE WEDNESDAY

Tue, 30 Nov 2004 02:57:02 GMT

Ah, Thanksgiving break. I love me my breaks. I need them, you see, to remind me once again why I'm at Hampshire. Stamford people are crazy. And they think I'm weird.

Number of sentimental movies watched: 4
Number of parking lots visited: 6
Number of times I got asked what my major was: 4
Number of random people I knew at the diner: 13
Number of games I played with siblings: 5
Number of hours spent on preparing to protest Walmart: 4
Hours actually spent in front of Walmart: 0.5
Cigarettes I smoked: 1
Cigarettes I got offered: 6
Puberty books bought for little brother: 1
Good Catholic friends got in trouble with the cops: 2
Schoolwork accomplished: 0

Sun, 30 May 2004 03:24:55 GMT

So when I got home from our five-day coven reunion, my dad was like, "So, what did you do?"
My reply went something like "Um... we did some shopping?"
We didn't actually do all that much, activity-wise. Yet I had an amazing time. And I realized that's because it wasn't about our adventures. It was about the company.

What Coven Reunion '04 Was All About

crazy running group hugs when we saw each other... transition pants... "I am totally crushing"... Lizzy's dyke voice... Leah casually drinking a beer... maybe Bob Hutch will give us a massage... avoiding the creepy guy... carnal treasure... Hentai in the cute bagel place... the Veet party... "I'm taking a survey. Do you associate yourself with the Middlebury Hippie Subculture?"... Jessie's All the Things You Pretend to Know About book... Leah's firstborn child has negative value... Val running an orphanage of firstborns... EL Fudge... Go, Emo Boy!... a portrait for every outfit... posing goth for pictures... the wonders of Stockbridge... bouncy mixes in the car... that diner with the weird sexualized burger caracatures... ah, the lean-to... our built-in phone booth... the weird flower pictures on the walls... How To Behave and Why... Jessie posing on top of the playground train... Never Have I Ever - Pictionary-style... constant references to hippies... plans to write all about it in L. J... the attractive friends of the Lawton-Cranes... the smart member of the coven story... young children are no longer scared of us... the awesome lengthy conversations about everything... laughing all the time

I'm spent. Feel free to add stuff.

Sappiness I thought I wouldn't feel

Tue, 18 May 2004 18:53:31 GMT

Home is weird.

I MISS EVERYONE ALREADY!!!

Hmmmm

Wed, 17 Mar 2004 07:05:02 GMT

Being bored as hell during Spring Break allows one to do absolutely pointless things, like Read Through All One's Old Diary Entries and Assess How Much One Has Changed.

It's true. Good old FOD. I realize that I wrote a lot more coherantly in that blog, because I knew who my audience was - all 4 of them. I was writing just to them, people who I loved and trusted, and who lived far away enough that I could tell them anything about my Stamford life and not worry about offending them. I was pretty honest. I sort of miss that.

We've been through a lot together, over those agonizing last two years of high school. It's amazing how we stayed close for that long. And I think, because of college and the "Include Everyone!" format of lj, we're finally losing touch.

Maybe it's not just that. Maybe it's me.

My FOD ends in May, when I realized something about myself. After that, my world literally changed. And a lot of the things that I wrote about in my diary, and the people that I wrote it for, disappeared for me. This sudden 'Truth' had such a firm grip on my mind that it overshadowed everything else.

The reunion is sooooo important to me, because I hate losing touch. I don't want that to happen to us.

To those of you who are confused by this extremely vague entry, I apologize. Back to old-diary-induced introspection.

There were certain trends/themes that continued throughout the months, that appeared in almost every entry. Here they were:
- how much I hate high school
- food/weight/dieting
- "Am I a fag hag?"
- Tim, and 'I really should like him'
- college
- theater
- depression/I don't have a life/Oh well, I'm better off than frosh and sophomore year

I'd like to think I've come a long way since then. I don't know, though. I feel like I just escaped for a while.

Maybe, if I'm bored, I'll post some of the "highlights" of my old entries.

Wed, 10 Mar 2004 05:44:44 GMT

My play is going to be part of New Play Fest!!! And so is Kevin's! Insane amounts of joy!

Fri, 05 Mar 2004 18:20:24 GMT

Okay, that colorquiz.com thing is indeed creepy. I mean, maybe I'm gullible, but I don't think it was that vague. Here:

"Has an unsatisfied need to ally herself with others whose standards are as high as her own, and to stand out from the herd. This desire for preeminence isolates her and inhibits her readiness to give herself freely. While she wants to surrender and let herself go, she regards this as a weakness which must be resisted. This self-restraint, she feels, will lift her above the rank and file and ensure recognition as a unique and distinctive personality.

Preoccupied with things of an intensely exciting nature, whether erotically stimulating or otherwise. Wants to be regarded as an exciting and interesting personality with an altogether charming and impressive influence on others. Uses tactics skillfully so as to avoid endangering her chances of success or undermining others' confidence in herself."

I would update further, but I think I'll take a nap instead.

Tue, 17 Feb 2004 18:34:01 GMT

I guess I haven't written much lately because, well, I've been thinking in angsty cliches and everyone's sick of reading those on online diaries.

I went to Boston this weekend. That was cool. My friend Kate is coming up this weekend. That will also be cool. (She's a prospy) My classes are all really interesting. Once again, cool.

I don't know. I feel like everything should be perfect, and that I should be strong for my friends who need someone to listen. But I just want to sleep for a few days, or something.

Val posts another novel excerpt because she can't think of anything else to write about

Sat, 07 Feb 2004 22:22:40 GMT

OK, this excerpt's pretty long. It's about Cassidy's best friend, Fiona, and Fiona's family, the Muranos. Cassidy's known them (through Fiona) since she was a little kid, and she spends half the summer at their house.

They're pretty... weird. Sort of New Ageish. They have 5 kids: Tristan (age 20), Fiona (18), Keye(15), Misty(11), and Athena(5). Um, enjoy.

There’s something really amazing about driving away from a horrible place. As I turned out of the drive and watched the sign “Valleyway Country Club - Private Road” fade away in my rearview mirror, I smiled cheesily in spite of myself. I opened all the windows so the wind blew my hair all over the place and turned up the radio so I could belt along with Aerosmith’s Walk This Way. Ah, freedom.
Fiona was sitting on her front steps surrounded by garden, waiting for me as I pulled the car in front of her lawn. She squealed, I squealed. We ran toward each other and hugged, her soft blonde curls touching my cheek.
“Your hair smells like french fries,” she said suddenly. I pulled away. “No!” she said. “Com’ere. It’s smells kinda...” I laughed, backing away. “Kinda good.”
“Fuck you,” I teased.
“I want to smell youuu,” she said, lunging toward me. Giggling, we ran around the lawn like five-year-olds.
“Come here! I love fries!!” “Turns you on, does it?” “They should make a french fry shampoo” “You’d like that, you perv” “Hi, I’m Cassidy! Would you like fries with that?”
“Girls?” asked Mrs. Murano. She’d pulled her ‘85 Cadillac into the driveway minutes ago and had been watching us silently. Keye and some girl I didn’t know were standing behind her.
We laughed.
“No need to explain or anything,” she teased. “Come on. I have pizza in my trunk. Keye, help me with the boxes.”
We trooped inside, gathering various Muranos and carrying pizza. Soon we were all sitting at the big brown table, munching happily. Only Tristan and Athy were missing.
“Athy’s at a bowling birthday party for her friend, Katie,” Mrs. Murano explained. “And Tristan... who knows.”
“Maybe he’s playing with his band,” suggested Fiona.
“Keye, who’s your friend?” asked Mr. Murano. He had a full head of curly brown hair and an equally dark beard.
Keye, on the other hand, had very thin, light hair that hung down to his cheekbones. He was between fat and skinny, between short and tall. He wore brown-rimmed glasses and mostly green clothing. “Oh, sorry,” he said, coming out of his usual dreaminess. “This is Jane. I know her from school.”
Jane glanced around the table and said, “Hey,” before returning to her pizza. She looked familiar.
“Did you go to St. Joe’s?” I asked her.
“What, Catholic school?” she asked, grinning at me. “Nope.”
“You look familiar,” I said stupidly.
Jane shrugged and took a big bite of pizza. With her shoulder-length brownish blonde hair, big black hoodie, and sort of plumpness, she looked like someone from my writing club.
“You didn’t go to Brookwood Prep?” I asked her. She shook her head.
“Give it up, Shorty,” said Mrs. Murano, who’d coined that nickname for me in the third grade. Obediently, I grabbed another slice of pizza and focused on eating.
“Anyway, Keye just said she goes to Arrowford High,” Misty told me snottily.
“Why do you always have to be such a smartass?” Fiona asked her.
“Why are you always so pretentious?”
“You don’t even know what pretentious means.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Such language,” said Mr. Murano halfheartedly.
“Misty,” said Fiona, “If you don’t have anything of value to say- which you never do- you should keep your kiddie mouth shut.”
“At least I’m not a slut!” Misty shouted.
“There you go again! You don’t even know what slut means!”
“Yes I do!”
“Fiona,” said Mrs. Murano, finally, “Sit down. Misty, shut the fuck up.”
“You always act like I’m a little kid, when I’m not! I’m fucking eleven! Fuck!” wailed Misty, pushing her glasses up her nose and running to her room. We could hear the door slam from downstairs.
“You heard the girl,” Mr. Murano said, grinning. “She’s fucking eleven, fuck. We just don’t understand her.”
Mrs. Murano tried to hold in her laughter. “Hey, that’s not cool, don’t be mean. You know Misty’s going through a hard stage-” she stopped talking, and laughed.
“Who ordered the pineapple pizza?” Fiona asked nonchalantly, apparently over the whole Misty Fight.
“Oh, I got that for Keye,” said Mrs. Murano. “It’s the only pizza he’ll eat. Right, Killer?” she asked, ruffling his hair.
“Yeah,” he said, cringing.
“I like it too,” said Jane suddenly. “The salty and sweet kind of oppose each other. It makes a delicious balance.”
We stared at her.
“You should do a commercial,” Fiona suggested.
“Yeah,” I said, teasing Fiona. “For a... pineapple... pizza... company.”
“Makes sense,” said Fiona with a straight face.
“Maybe I will,” said Jane, finishing her second slice.
“Have any of you seen that commercial with the Pillsbury Dough Boy in it,” Mrs. Murano asked us.
“There’s a whole line of commercials-” began Mr. Murano.
“No, the weird part is, the commercial’s not for Pillsbury,” said Mrs. Murano loudly. “It’s for… cell phones or something.”
“I know what you’re talking about,” I responded.
“It’s quite disturbing! Isn’t it disturbing?” she appealed to me.
“Here we go,” said Mr. Murano, rolling his eyes.
“He looks so sad sitting on that table,” Mrs. Murano went on.
“Yeah!” I said. “And then the cell phone guy asks if he can tickle him and the Dough Boy just hangs his head and goes ‘Everybody else does.’”
“What bothers me more are the Trix commercials,” said Fiona.
“Yeah!” Jane agreed.
“I hate those!” Fiona went on. “The rabbit tries soo hard! Why won’t those kids let him have some Trix already?”
“It makes life seem so futile,” Keye agreed quietly.
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” said Fiona.
“It’s almost like American society,” he continued.
“No! Sorry, no,” said Fiona. “You are not going to turn an innocent conversation about commercials into another Corruption in the System rant.”
“Oh, sorry the conversation isn’t going your way, Fiona,” said Keye sarcastically. “We’ll amend everything we say just for you.”
“Another Murano that just shouldn’t talk!” she said exasperatedly. “Go on, Keye, go back to your whole shy thing. It makes you more attractive.”
“And you call Misty a wise-ass?”
“GODDESS!” Mrs. Murano shrieked. “Can this family have a normal dinner for once?! Can we not fight for five minutes?!”
We ate the rest of our pizza in silence, filling our plates with half-bit crusts.

Procrastination

Sun, 01 Feb 2004 19:44:58 GMT

I decided I'm going to do one of those boring-I'll-tell-you-every-inane-thing-I-did-today-don't-you-love-online-journals kind of entries. So yeah:

I have to admit that I'm not fully satisfied being back here, yet. There are hours where I'm having a great time, and moments where I'm amused, but for the most part I have this latent... discontent... that surfaces whenever I'm by myself or in the middle of a conversation I can't relate to. I don't know. Maybe I just haven't settled in yet.

Yesterday was hotness, though. 'Twas the first morning I really got to sleep in since I've been at Hampshire. And when you sleep till 1, your day inevitably becomes a lazy/happy non-day. I christened my hot-pot, I had a great discussion about education and the brain and politics *waves at Shauna*, I phoned home like E.T. Had a completely unsatisfying SAGA dinner, but it was okay, cuz me and Skim ended up having one of those wonderful greasy personal pizzas at Target. Skim and I have wayyy too much fun in Target. I discovered one of those padded bras that's made to feel like real breasts - You know what I'm talking about? Those things are crazy. What do they put in them, do you think?

I bought my notebooks at the dollar store, which is a good thing, because textbooks were expensive this semester. The only ones they had were the elementary school kind with the pictures on the front - highly entertaining. I think I'm going to make my Shaq notebook be for "Learning from Children," Grant Hill be for "Children, Violence, and the Media," the girl kissing a puppy for "Italian," and the red car notebook for "Education Reform." I doubt Acting needs a notebook.

It's the little things in life, guys. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

At night was Lauren's party, wonderful and F. Scott Fitzgerald themed. Few people were fully dressed up, but there were a lot of wonderful hats. And flasks. So far, I love the theater people here. They seem to be very easygoing, and in general lacking melodrama. Good times.

"Pleeese, Veronica? It'll be very."

Sat, 31 Jan 2004 22:17:48 GMT

Online journals are strange things. You end up looking for emotional fulfillment in the form of 2-sentence notes, and feel down when you don't get any. From now on, I'm writing this for me. (I think.) So don't feel obligated to leave notes... only when you feel the need. Which was happening anyway, so yeah.

Here's an example of what I'm talking about - I posted a novel clip, and no one responded, so I decided not to post anymore. Then some anonymous user said he/she liked it and I thought "Hey! Maybe I'll post another clip after all! Because this person I don't know seemed pleased about it!"

WTF???!! (as my sister would say). I should post because I want to, not for anyone else. Livejournal doesn't have to be the devil. So yeah. Here's another excerpt, which I've posted because... I don't know.

It introduces Taylor, one of Cassidy's friends. She's a cynical rich girl who wants to be a writer. She's sort of a Gothic Tool.

“Cassidy! Phone!”
“Okay, Mom!” I rolled toward the edge of my bed, and reached for the gray portable lying on the floor. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Taylor,” came a familiar soft, guttural voice. “I’ve been trying to call you for like three hours.”
“Oh. I graduated today. That’s probably why-”
“I know, stupid. I was there,” she said.
I stretched out, my toes reaching both bottom corners of my bed. “You were? Why didn’t you come say hi afterward?”
“I’m bad at the whole talking to adults thing. You were with your parents the whole time.”
“But they’d like you!” I lied.
“Whatever. It was really crowded. I figured I’d call you afterward.”
“Yeah, we went out for dinner after the ceremony.”
“Bet that was thrilling.”
“Well, my mom complained three times about her food. And Emma ate, for a change.” I cringed. That sounded so dorky. “So it was as... thrilling as a Moss... dinner... can get,” I finished lamely.
“Riiiight,” she said.
“Well, thanks for coming, anyway. That means a lot.”
“I hope so,” she replied. “The ceremony sucked.”
“Just like our school. What else is new?” I said, then hesitated. “Wait. Your school. It’s not mine anymore! I’m finished!”
“You are so lucky. How does it feel?”
“Weird,” I honestly replied. “It’s like, part of my identity consisted of hating Brookwood.”
She laughed.
“I know it’s sad, but it’s true. Being sarcastic about prep school took up a lot of my time and energy. What am I going to do with that part of my life?”
“Get a hobby,” Taylor suggested.
“Right. I’ll have to take up stamp collecting or something.” God, why was I so lame? Taylor didn’t even reply to that one.
“I was just looking through my yearbook,” I said after a minute.
“Ugh. Why?”
“No. I was looking at the things people wrote when they signed it. Not the actual text of the yearbook.”
“Did a lot of people sign?” she asked.
“A fair amount. You were the best, though.”
“Well, you consider me a writer. I had to live up to that,” she said, almost warmly.
“You did,” I said lightly. “Everyone else basically wrote the same thing. A bunch of people said I was a fun person to talk to, that my bitterness amused them, that they hope I’ll like college better than I liked high school.”
“Not bad.”
“And they all used the term ‘unique.’” I put on a fake falsetto. “ ‘You’re soo unique, Cassidy.’ ‘Cassidy, you’re such a unique individual.’”
“I don’t really see the problem.”
“It’s such an empty word. It doesn’t mean anything. And, if anything, it just says that they thought I was weird.”
Taylor didn’t reply.
“I guess there isn’t a problem,” I admitted after a few minutes.
“You read too much into things, Cassidy,” she said. “It’s a high school yearbook. Everything that people write is going to be fake... with the exception of mine, of course. They didn’t know anything about you.”
“They knew some things!” I protested.
“But not the important things.”
“You’re right,” I appeased her. “As usual. But that doesn’t mean I won’t stop thinking about it. All these people I’ve talked to for four years who might make a mark in the world, and all I have to remember them by are fake yearbook messages.”
“It’s you’re own fault,” Taylor said definitively. “Speaking of fake, I noticed you talked to Curt during graduation.”
“I know,” I wailed. “I couldn’t help it. He was sitting right in front of me. His ponytail was blocking my line of vision.”
“He was looking for you after the ceremony. He wanted a picture, I think.”
“Oh,” I grunted. “That’s just great.”
“I take it you haven’t told him yet?” she asked me.
“No,” I said quietly.
“Does he still think you’re his girlfriend?”
“I don’t know,” I said, still quieter.
Her voice became more gentle. “You know you’ll have to tell him eventually, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll drop it.”

Tue, 27 Jan 2004 15:47:36 GMT

One of my many gorgeous fans (my friend Alice (home Alice, not Hampshire Alice)) asked me one day how my novel was going and if I was willing to post some of it.

My novel, which I'd planned to finish during Jan term, is only 1/3 done and extremely crappy. I guess I'm not really the NaNoWriMo type. It's cool, though, because I've gotten farther than I would've if I hadn't set a ridiculous goal for myself. And, hopefully, its crappiness will get less crappy in due time. I figure I need to get it all written down first, no matter how bad it is. Once it's all written, I can edit the shit out of it.

I will, however, post excerpts of it from time to time. (Leah-styyyyle) Just know that it is far from finished.

The story's about a quirky, kinda awkward girl named Cassidy Moss, and takes place in the summer between high school and college. It's sort of about how weird that particular time is in one's life, because you don't belong to anything (high school, college, the so-called real world). It's just this prolonged waiting period.

Anyway, during her summer, Cassidy makes several attempts at the "real world" through various crappy jobs, each time failing miserably. This excerpt's about her first day working at a poolside snack bar in a country club.

“The reason you were hired was because all the regulars are on vacation but they’ll be back soon and then we’ll have to figure out schedules and stuff,” said my new co-worker, Jennifer, an extremely fat brunette who was supposed to ‘show me the ropes.’
“Turkey Club,” she said, demonstrating. “You put two slices of bread in the toaster, like this. Now, you spread mayonaise both slices. I always put a lot on unless they tell me to go light. Then comes the lettuce and tomato, which go on the left slice of toast. But in the meantime, you’re frying the bacon.” She grabbed a few slabs of bacon with silver prongs, and placed them, limp and whitish, on the fryer. “Now you grab the turkey from the fridge compartment and put a bunch of slices on the right-side piece of toast. By this time, the bacon should be ready,” she grabbed the prongs again and moved the bacon, which had turned a little darker and had grease bubbling on it, “And you put in on top on the turkey. Then you put the sandwich together, cut it diagonally, and cover the rest of the plate with fries.”
“Okay,” I said, concentrating. She made it seem really complicated.
“The last thing you do,” she said, grabbing a dirty yellowish rag from the sink, “Is wipe down the counter.” She handed it to me.
“You want me to do that?” I asked.
“Duh,” she said, biting into the turkey club. “From left to right! Wash the counter’s left side first!”
“Okay, sorry,” I said nervously.
“That way you get the side with the most germs on it first. We always make the sandwiches toward the left side of the counter,” she explained.
“Makes sense,” I agreed amiably.

“The frozen yogurt machine,” Jennifer said solemnly. “You push down on the lever and try to swirl it in the cup. That means you have to move the cup in a circular motion.”
“Circular motion,” I said. “Got it.”
“I make the best frozen yogurt cups. A lot of the regulars come in and ask that only I make their yogurts.”
“Oh,” I said helplessly.
“It takes practice,” she explained. “Oh look! Here comes a customer! Go to the main fridge, second door to your left in the main building, and get me a bag of fries. Quick!”
“Okay!” I said, flying out the back door. Now, where was the main building?

“Stocking,” Jennifer explained, “Is pretty easy. The worst part is carrying the boxes of drinks from the main building to the snack bar. They’re pretty heavy.”
“Really?” I asked.
“You just wait!” she exuberantly exclaimed, rolling her eyes at the crusty white ceiling. “Now, you put the bottles in the fridge and pack them in rows as tight as you can,” she said. “But you have to move the new ones further to the back, because they haven’t cooled off yet. Customers really love Diet Snapple so I try to fill half of the middle shelf with them. Dannon water bottles go quickly, too. Here, you stock. Think you can handle it?”
“I’ll give it a try,” I said.

“How old do you think I am?” Jennifer asked.
“Um...,” I said. It was after my third trip to the main building for more different flavored Snapples. And the tighter I packed them in, the more room I seemed to have to fill. “I don’t know. How old are you?”
“No, you have to guess!”
Sweat was pouring down the back of my yellow polo shirt. “Uh... twenty?”
“No,” said Jennifer, leaning on the counter and looking at me. “I’m sixteen. People just think I’m old because I’m fat.”
“You’re not fat,” I said doubtfully.
“Oh, I’m fat,” she assured me. “They had to look in the attic to find a uniform for me, because they didn’t have it in Extra Large.”
“You mean the polo shirt?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe the sizes run small,” I suggested.
“Maybe. Don’t put the water bottles in front of the mango Snapples.”

“My father left me when I was seven years old,” said Jennifer, mopping the floor. I was washing dishes.
“I’m sorry,” I told her.
“I don’t really care. He’s an asshole,” she explained.
“Do you still keep in touch with him?” I offered, after a few minutes’ silence.
“Not really,” she said. “He doesn’t want to see me. He moved to Florida and now he has two little boys. He doesn’t even send me birthday cards.”
“What an asshole,” I said. My feet were killing me.

Sun, 18 Jan 2004 17:33:54 GMT

An excruciatingly awful trip to Walmart yesterday afternoon led me to stay up late and write a short story. It's titled "Superstore Called Lonliness" (because I continue to suck at titles) and it's about a girl who has a panic attack at Walmart. Should be on my fiction page pretty soon, so check it out if you wish.

That is all.